Mark Lanegan • Gargoyle
Over the last decade or so, Mark Lanegan has burrowed his way under my skin like a shamanic MoleMan on a mission from The Gods.
Back in my days of eyeliner and cuban heels, Screaming Trees were a great escape for me – I had some vague concept they were what a ‘real’ alternative band sounded like and at the core of their output was Lanegan’s voice bleeding all over their catalogue like a wounded stallion. By the time they wandered onto my radar and meant it, Seattle bands were gaining momentum all over the place but I was far too `distracted by the majesty that was Mother Love Bone to make Screaming Trees my main squeeze out there.
Twenty seven years (yeah, that scares me too) and ten studio albums later, Mark Lanegan is a different man than he was back then but his voice keeps getting better and better at assaulting what’s left of me in this post apocalyptic world.
Death’s Head Tattoo is a suffocating introduction to Gargoyle but its masterpiece comes just one track later in Nocutrne. These two tracks alone suggest that Lanegan has been forever drowning in a beautiful alternative eighties revival of the best kind: in a bedsit somewhere just outside of Camden where bands like Flesh For Lulu and Balaam and the Angel still reign the night life… or at the very least, as opposite sides of a battered Sony C90 cassette tape. But that’s probably not true no matter how much I would like it to be.
The point being, Lanegan doesn’t sound like anybody else. He’s a Leonard Cohen for a generation of people who might be listening but equally, might not. He creates worlds in a bubble he blew all by himself just as those other bands mentioned did. Splendid replete in his own isolation, the man is free to write whatever he pleases… yet for all the flowers I can throw at Lanegan for his years in the trenches – I’m not wholly struck on Gargoyle.
Those first two tracks blow supernova lightning bolts across the sky for me but it’s not until we hit Emperor — on what is effectively side two in old money—that it picks up again, but then it’s over. Three great songs doth not an essential album make. Three great songs makes a solid EP, but that’s about all.
If you’ve ever been curious about Lanegan’s solo career, there are far better places to start than this… and you should, otherwise you’ll miss out on some very sharp magic. Phantom Radio is all there – as is Bubblegum and I’ll Take Care Of You… but not this and that’s a damn shame.
Ain’t it shitty when you want to love something but can’t.
